


Dom 4 Hire

by LazyBaker



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Come Eating, Dom Billy Hargrove, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Sub Steve Harrington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:29:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22837066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LazyBaker/pseuds/LazyBaker
Summary: Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 45
Kudos: 530





	Dom 4 Hire

Steve is naked, on his hands and knees, in the apartment he shares with his high school sweetheart for a man he only just met in person five minutes ago.

If Steve’s barely 22, he can’t _technically_ be having a mid-life crisis, but that’s what it feels like playing human footstool while blondie plays _Stardew Valley_ on his phone at full volume and the heels of his leather biker books dig into Steve’s shoulder blade.

Steve had told his dad he had a dentist appointment. Time for the twice yearly cleaning or whatever. He was taking a long lunch. To get his teeth cleaned. Not to let a man boss him around so hard he’d forget Nancy hasn’t been home in _weeks_.

They’d set up a couple guidelines. Steve did. Steve had told Billy _this is my first time_ , had made it _very_ clear he didn’t want anything too extreme. No ropes. No clamps. Nothing that would make him bleed. Nothing that would make him bruise too bad.

 _I have a girlfriend_ , Steve had texted over the app that had gathered all the inputted honesty Steve could muster up at three in the morning after half a bottle of Jack and put the dots together, leading Steve to messaging the epitome of the California beach blond beefcake with a sleazy quirk to his mouth and abs Steve felt guilty looking at, _we’re on a break and I don’t wanna have to explain it to her_.

That’s what Nancy had called it. _A break._

She’d told him over the phone, _I think we need a break_.

Because, you know, that’s what five years of a relationship will get you. A phone call, apparently.

A sharp smack to his ass jolts Steve from his unpleasant and all too unhappy thoughts, gets a startled _ah!_ out of him.

“Straighten your back.” Billy Hargrove says. Stern and a tinge of mocking. He’s got that kind of voice. Never too serious. Always a bit _fuck you too_. Billy has a mullet and wears denim and leather like the whole _80s bad boy_ look never went out of style and considering how the guy looks, nothing could ever be out of style for him.

He smells like menthols and cologne that’s sweet and different from the kind of people Steve’s usually around.

Steve tries to be subtle and glance over his shoulder to see Billy’s put his phone away and is holding the wooden spoon up, twirling it between two of his fingers as a promise for another punishing smack if Steve doesn’t get it together.

Steve shivers at his cocky grin, the bright sting on his ass cheeks, that _sound_ the wooden spoon makes in the quiet apartment where it’s just him and his shame and Billy—the goddamn wooden spoon his mother had given Steve and Nancy as a moving gift when he told her Nancy got into the school of her dreams and Steve was going with her and he hopes she doesn’t mind if he takes a job for the husband and dad who moved to California with _The Other Woman_. The spoon’s imported from some town in Italy. Hand crafted and everything. It must have cost her a fortune to get made and shipped all the way out to sticks of Indiana. Steve only uses it to make his grandma’s classic marinara.

And the spoon works his ass like a dream in Billy’s hands.

Steve does as he’s told, straightens his back. His knees complain. His back calls him an asshole. His elbows are starting to shake. Being on all fours for so long has Steve faced with just how horribly out of shape he is.

Settling into what he’d thought was a happy relationship has gotten him nothing but a soft stomach and a lot of disappointing realities he’s in no condition to actually acknowledge, no thanks, seriously, he’s full up here.

“Spread your knees more. I wanna see that asshole learn morse code.” Billy pulls Steve’s ass cheek to the side with the spoon and—and—

 _Christ,_ Steve’s dick is so hard. It’s so hard for _this_. To be laid out like this. To be made to strip at the door of his apartment by some douchebag looking down his nose at him and then told to crawl.

This is what happens when you’re ten and your best friend shows you a BDSM smut rag to laugh at but all it does is just stick around for the rest of his life to become the playground for every stupid fantasy he’s ever had.

Two days ago Steve had spilled his guts in lengthy texts, drunk and crying and horny and missing the girl he’d bought a ring for to a guy who only replied with _i’ll fuck the bitch outta ya babydoll_ then charged him a price that wouldn’t have been possible if Steve wasn’t working as his dad’s glorified and overpaid secretary.

Steve had sent him double the amount to book a session with him this week because if he’s gonna die of a broken heart he might as well live his life to the fullest and do what he’s always wanted to do, but never had the opportunity until now.

Steve spreads his knees, tilts his hips a little too and glows when Billy makes this happy, thoughtful noise. Totally worth getting new cartilage in his knees.

“That is a virgin hole if I’ve ever seen one.” Billy coos and Steve shouldn’t be proud of his asshole, but here he is, _here he really is_. “Damn pretty too, just like you, pretty boy.”

Steve’s blushing. Has been since Billy stormed into his apartment and told him to strip one piece of clothing at a time. _Just seeing how well you follow orders_ , Billy had explained smoothly, eyes on him the entire time, burning him, judging him, getting him off without even _touching_ him.

Other than getting his left and right mixed up, Steve’s turning out to not be so bad at this.

It figures out of everything he’s attempted _this_ would be the one thing he’s got a chance at being good at.

“Thank you?” Steve tells the floor he’s getting to know incredibly intimately. His dick is leaking, dripping a small lake beneath him on the hardwood Nancy had picked out.

“When’s the last time you jerked off?”

“This—this morning.”

“’Cause I was comin’ over? Did I get you all wet, pretty boy?”

Steve nods. There’s no saying _I jerked off to the three pics on your profile and my girlfriend’s birthday photos from last year_. Steve made it clear he’s not up for bleeding, either by Billy or from ripping himself open. This is a one time thing. At best, maybe a two time thing. He’s gonna die soon. His heart’s gonna tear in two and he’ll be put out of his misery.

Or maybe Nancy will be back and want him back and Steve will be planning a wedding and will be too busy being In Love to need to be professionally degraded.

“Ain’t you just _precious_ , fuck, man. You sure you’re not a homo?” Billy says as he moves the spoon to cup Steve’s balls.

Steve’s eyes flutter. He watches his dick twitch, dripping fat spurts of precome to add to the mess on the floor.

“I’m—I’m straight.” Steve mumbles, too focused on the polished wood working his sack. “Mostly straight. Ish. Straight-ish, I guess?”

Billy laughs, mean, not believing him at all and it only pushes Steve closer to shooting off.

“Stevie, pretty boy, you’re too much, man. I like you, ya fuckin’ freak.” Billy’s only a little rough when he gives Steve’s balls a rough pat with the spoon. “How about—when’s the last time you got laid?”

Steve wants him to snap that spoon in half on his ass and at the same time he wants Billy to tell him he’s done _good_.

“Um.” Steve stalls. “A month—no—a week ago?”

It’s worth it.

Billy smacks his ass _so hard_ Steve’s sure he heard wood splintering. All of him gets pushed forward with the force of it, his palms squeaking on the floor nearly as loud as his own _squeak_. He’ll send his mom a _sorry my ass broke your gift_ card.

“I’ve got two rules and I don’t repeat myself.” Billy holds the spoon to Steve’s backside, over the hot skin, a threat if Steve isn’t careful. “One.”

“I’m— _we’re_ —not gonna fuck.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because.” Steve closes his eyes to think back to the text messages they exchanged. “ _Because._ ”

_cuz by the time im thru with you youre gonna beg me to choke on my dick but thats part of the game. wanting something you aint gonna get_

_just dont try to haggle for it and were cool ;P_

Steve had rolled his eyes when Billy send him that and had gotten half-hard at how forward this random guy was being.

The thing is—Steve’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to fuck Billy. What he knows he wants is to fuck Nancy and love Nancy and have Nancy love him too and to be strong-armed to the ground by a man who can overtake him.

“Because that’s—that’s outta bounds.”

Billy rubs circles on his sore ass cheek with the spoon. “Now two.”

“No lying.”

“So why did my pretty boy decide to lie to me?”

Steve hangs his head low, eyes clenched shut and then says, quietly like maybe he won’t hear himself, “I wanted you to hurt me.”

Shame erupts bright red on his face, on all of him, on his dick that throbs at the confession. Saying it out loud turns it real. It’s more than a text message or a private search on safari.

It’s real now.

Billy hums. Thoughtful. Low.

“Tell me you’re sorry. No half-assing it either or I’ll be sweeter than your mama on Valentine’s day.”

Steve swallows, his mouth dry.

“What if I don’t?”

“Oh, pretty boy.” Billy nearly growls, his voice is dipping deep into danger that sends tingles up Steve’s spine and raises the hair on the back of his neck. “I told you I’d go easy on ya, but you don’t wanna cross that line with me just yet.”

Steve shakes at the ideas that race through his mind, all the videos he’s watched, the fantasies he’s dreamed up and gotten off to—it’s all too much and too soon, the possibilities of what Billy could _really_ off him.

He chickens out.

Mumbles, _I’m sorry_ with a pout.

The spoon’s gone. Billy lifts his feet off of Steve’s back and the sudden weightlessness Steve feels leaves him dazed and his knees and back crying with relief.

Then Billy is petting his hair.

“So you were listening, huh?” Billy scratches nicely at Steve’s scalp, long swipes through his hair, down to his nape, behind his ears, and grabs a handful of Steve’s hair, fists it tight, sharply pulling his head back. “How long’s it been since you got that horse dick wet, pretty boy?”

“ _Agh!_ Two—two months— _shit!_ ”

Billy whistles low and sympathetic, his grip unwavering putting strain on Steve’s neck, his back.

Steve pushes up on the tips of his fingers and is stuck balancing there to find relief, his thighs burn to help counter Billy’s hold and keep Steve up.

“A dick like yours put on the shelf? _That_ is some fucked up bologna.” Billy tsks then yanks Steve back and all the way up onto his knees.

Steve once again is met with electric blue eyes and glaringly bright white teeth grinning wickedly, a lion ready to pounce. Steve’s as ready as ever to be devoured.

“So your girl walks out on ya and you need to pay to get off.”

“I mean—“

“ _Something’s_ not adding up here, pretty boy.” Billy says as he twists the knife and tightens his grip when Steve tries to look away or close his eyes. “Did you get her off?”

“Wh—what?”

“Did you, pretty boy with the pricy apartment and bottomless bank account and the biggest, fattest dick this side of LA, go down on your girl?”

Billy’s pleased by how Steve clearly, obviously does not want to answer that.

There’s no waiting Billy out. That’s not the point. That’s not why Billy’s here. That’s not why Steve shelled out a good chunk of change for him.

“ _Yes._ ” Steve spits out.

“Hm.” Billy cocks his head, grip on Steve steady, a vice. He’s a big guy. Stronger than Steve. If anything, those photos on his profile downplayed his muscles. “There’s gotta be a reason she didn’t wanna go another round on this ride. Either you’re fooling yourself or your girl’s the dumbest cow on the farm.”

Steve’s lips press tightly together, quivering with anger that’s as sharp as his embarrassment.

 _Bullshit_ chimes in his ears.

Over and over again.

Nancy drunk and upset and _so mad_ and _so damn honest_ spitting out the truth like the last five years have meant jack to her.

She doesn’t love him.

She’s not sure she ever has.

Their relationship is bullshit.

 _Steve is bullshit_.

It all came crashing down in one fantastic blow out of a night.

Steve’s throat begins to clam up and he realizes, mortified to his bones, he’s one hiccup away from bawling his eyes out all over again. He goes to grab Billy’s hand from his hair, but Billy clicks his tongue and Steve’s hands falter.

“Pretty boy. Babydoll. _Steve_. Look at me.” Billy pats Steve’s cheek, cups his jaw to grab onto Steve’s focus and keep it and him in the moment, the reality where his knees hurt and his heart is broken and his dick is still hard and Billy’s face is close to his.

Steve thinks back to his high school days where at every heartbreak, any tiny newfound sorrow, he’d find a girl to fuck it out of his system.

Then he met Nancy.

Now he met Billy.

 _Paid_ Billy.

Billy sits on the edge of Steve’s chair, his thighs spread wide to make room for him. He lets go of Steve’s hair, presses his thumb to Steve’s mouth, pushes passed Steve’s lips to rub at his teeth, his gums, his tongue. Steve drools all over himself. He closes his eyes and just—just _feels_ , tells himself to _just_ feel.

“So damn messy, pretty boy.” Billy chastises him, about the drool, the steady leak of come, or Steve himself—for whichever reason, he sounds damn pleased and that means Steve can hop onto those coattails to feel the tiniest bit of pleasure about his messes too.

Billy rubs Steve’s drool down his chin, his neck to his chest, into his chest hair, matting it flat against his flushed skin. He takes time to pinch Steve’s nipples, watching his face keenly while Steve trembles under the roughening treatment as Billy starts to use his nails when that gets the bigger reaction from Steve and his masochistic dick.

Billy stops and Steve’s head rolls back and he _whines_ as pathetic as ever.

"That’s more like it.” Billy says and moves, kneels on the floor behind Steve, his legs framing Steve’s, his strong, firm chest to Steve’s back, Billy’s big, warm hands grip Steve’s hips to pull him back so his sore, burning ass is pressed to Billy’s crotch and underneath the soft denim is—is his erection. He’s hard too.

Steve’s never felt another man’s dick. This is as close as he’s been. It’s strange, different in a way he didn’t think he’d like.

“Feel that, babydoll? That’s all for you. You did that, pretty boy.” Billy bucks up against Steve’s ass. His hands slide down down down, down from Steve’s hips, down to his navel, down to his pubic hair to massage the sensitive, soft skin and comb through his thick dark curls right above Steve’s dreadful, wanting cock causing Steve’s stomach to jump. His chin hooks over Steve’s shoulder and he’s so close, he’s _everywhere_ , his sweet scented cologne, his hot breath, his big big big muscles, his horribly vicious hands.

“Look at that.” Billy’s looking down at Steve’s dick so Steve does too.

It’s like it isn’t his. It’s this wanton _thing_ that’s controlling him. Making him like this. Pulsing with need to be touched and loved, crying with it. A twitching alien attached to his body. Steve makes an unhappy noise and Billy pinches the thin skin of his underbelly.

“Do you know how many assholes out there would _kill_ for a dick like that?” Billy bites Steve’s earlobe. Steve digs his nails into his thighs and completely loses track of the time. He’s going to get fired. Or at least chewed out. One more shitty thing on top of the shit pile, why not.

It’s hard to be upset about his career prospects with Billy’s tongue finding the exact spot not even Nancy could hit half the time.

“Not me, though,” Billy says. His mustache tickles Steve’s ear. His neck. He scratches along Steve’s stomach. “That’s my dick, after all. Not your girl’s. Sure as hell not yours. All mine, you hear that?”

Steve nods. Takes Billy at his word. It’s Billy’s dick. It’s Billy’s fault and his responsibility now. Steve’s off the hook for all the deranged shit it wants.

“I think I figured it out. Maybe she was just too nice to you.” Billy picks up the spoon from the floor and presses the curved underside to the crown of Steve’s dick and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek and try as hard as he can to not blow at the first touch to his dick just yet.

“Nice ain’t gonna get this monster hard, not like it should be.” Billy gives Steve’s dick an undeniable smack with the spoon, firm and on the side of _rough_ and Steve would double over if Billy wasn’t holding him up. All he can do is cry out and lose his damn mind. “Gushin’ like you got yourself the wettest pussy on the block. Bitches don’t know how to fuck other bitches, a guy like you needs a real stud, ain’t that right, pretty boy?”

Steve thinks he’s supposed to say _yes_ or _nod_ in full agreement here, but the pain, the fresh sting of that spoon on his most sensitive part is enough to knock the words, the ability to be a person out of him.

Billy scrapes the spoon up the full length of Steve’s dick, come pooling into it, pulling a long, tortured moan out of Steve. It’s a relief. Sends him sky-high. His whole body jerks in Billy’s grasp.

Billy laughs at him.

“You ever taste jizz, straight boy?”

Steve shudders, licks his lips. Takes a moment to form some words in his head and shift his tongue back into gear. It’s the most difficult thing he’s done sober in a while. The wires have crossed and untangling them’s a job for someone better at this.

“Sometimes.” Steve admits quietly, his voice hoarse, the words slow coming out, slurred. “Sometimes I eat mine.”

Billy buries his face in Steve’s neck, moaning _holy shit_. Steve can feel his dick kick against his ass.

Billy might just break his own rules. Steve doesn’t think he would mind. He’s flattered as hell to get this kind of reaction out of Billy. An honest reaction that’s got nothing to do with the dough Steve’s slung his way.

Billy bites his ear as thanks. Lifts the spoon to Steve’s lips. Steve’s eyes cross, he goes breathless. He can smell his spunk.

“All of it.” Billy tells him, sounding roughed up. “Then you’re gonna make that floor sparkle just for me.”

Steve’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head, too turned on to do anything but nod, heavy lidded, going scarlet down to his toes, panting as he licks the spoon clean, swallowing his thick precome, the taste of it sweeter than he remembers.

Billy grabs hold of the back of his neck and lowers him down to the floor. Steve braces himself on his hands and opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out and laps at the puddle of cooling jizz soaking through the floorboards, aching in a way that’s good and filthy and amazing and when Billy’s hold on his neck lightens and he starts petting the back of Steve’s head, presses his nose to Steve’s temple to tell him, _so good for me, pretty boy_ , Steve melts.

He _melts_ for the praise, takes a shine to it like nothing else and grows eager to lap all of his spilled spunk up, mindlessly, happily, his brain finally, after weeks of bullying, turns off and Steve is simply this being of sensation on the floor with Billy telling him how good he is, his hands, big and blunt and strong and obscene burning like summer down his spine, up and down, over and over.

Billy tells him to swallow it all. Steve does. Billy tells Steve to prove it so Steve opens his mouth. Billy swipes his thumb in a line across his chin and feeds Steve what he was too sloppy to take.

Steve’s full and spaced out and high on something he’s never had before but likes a lot.

“I got one more question and you better use that head of yours before answering. Doesn’t matter how pretty you are, I’ll fuck you up.” Billy’s hand is on his chest. He says it seriously. His eyes are so damn blue.

_Blue blue blue._

The bluest blue.

Steve nods. He can only nod.

“You think you deserve to come?”

 _Christ_.

The idea that he won’t. That after all this, that like this, lit up and ready, dripping all over himself, down his balls, his thighs, back onto the floor, already making a brand new mess—the idea that he _won’t_ is—

Steve shakes his his head _no_. He could have lied. But he doesn’t want to. It wouldn’t be right.

And he knows it’s the right answer as Billy _grins_ this thousand watt smile, dimples and freckles and pride on display all because of Steve and _that_ , Steve thinks and feels all throughout his body, might just be as good anything and his heart hammers along and he thinks of Nancy, as he always does, and his chest aches just as badly, wanting for something and someone he’s not going to get.

Billy helps him up onto his wobbly feet, holds him steady as the blood starts to properly flow, feeling sore, his head coming down from the clouds, emerging from the thick fog, and it’s easy to stand there while his thoughts begin to wiggle back into his head and have Billy wrap him in the blanket off the couch.

Nancy’s grandma had knitted it for her. They cuddled under this blanket countless times.

Billy lays Steve down on the couch, his ass too sore to sit, brings him a water bottle and a beer from the fridge, pops the cap off on the edge of the counter.

He sits on the coffee table next to Steve while Steve drains the entire bottle then takes a couple sips of the beer, his erection hidden under the blanket and still very much _there_.

It’s quiet while Steve comes down from the heights. Billy’s on his phone again and Steve tries not to be offended or put off. Steve doesn’t know what to do now that it’s over. _Thanks for being an asshole, really rocked my socks off, am I supposed to tip or?_

He squirms on the couch, his thighs pressed together, trying to not to rub off on the blanket. That’s just what he needs, to get jizz all over a family heirloom that’s not his.

Billy reaches out and brushes Steve’s hair back and out of his face and Steve freezes, staring wide-eyed at him.

“Um.” Steve says, awkwardly.

Billy doesn’t let him struggle for too long.

“Don’t jerk off today.” Billy tells him straight faced as ever and Steve is nodding before he thinks about what he’s just agreed to and what that actually means. “Wait until tomorrow. Right before you go to work, yeah? Send me a pic. I wanna see the mess your Krakatoa makes.”

Billy’s wording is—the worst.

Steve says, “Oh. Okay?”

“You did a real good job, pretty boy. Not bad for a first-timer.”

“Thanks. Thank you.” Steve clears his throat. “Thank you for this.”

Billy nods. Stands up. He’s hard still and it’s so obvious in his tight jeans. Steve looks away. A fresh new wave of embarrassment hitting him.

Billy checks his phone again and Steve thinks _that’s it_ , before Billy, haltingly, and maybe just as awkward as Steve, bends down to ruffle Steve’s hair.

“Your ex sounds like she did a number on you.” Billy says with his eyes on his phone then on Steve and the impact is 60 mph heading right for a brick wall. Steve can’t move. “Fuck her. Don’t let her drown ya. You’re a—you’re not a half-bad guy.”

And then he’s walking out the door he busted through and he’s gone.

Steve watches the door for a few long moments then closes his eyes, refusing to think of anything more and waits for his erection to die down. He calls out of work for the rest of the day. As the boss’s son, he doesn’t get any flack or trouble, no one asks _why_ he’s an hour over his lunch break and supposed dentist appointment.

His dad will chew him out later, but Steve’s used to it. Curling up on the couch, he checks his phone for messages and only finds a text from Tommy asking him if he’s _still_ crying over _you know who_.

Nancy’s still no where to be seen. Steve checks her twitter. Her instagram. Only finds one update with a pic of a sandwich she ate for lunch yesterday. No clue to give him a hint over which friend she’s with or if she has any kind of inclination to take Steve back. Or for Steve to take her back. She dumped him, after all.

Steve tosses his phone onto the coffee table and flips over on the couch to hide his face in the back cushions. Zones out and feels the impending _abyss_ inside of himself that’s growing bigger and bigger in the quiet and the reality of what he’s done comes knocking on his door.

He’s let some guy he doesn’t know do _that_ to him.

Nancy would be disgusted. She’s a _good Christian girl_. She won’t want anything to do with him if she knew.

Steve turns on the TV, flips through the channels and watches the first movie he finds to distract himself.

His ass aches. His knees too. He has the salty taste of come still on his lips.

Steve rubs at his ear, his face growing warm. He can still feel Billy all over him. Can still smell the sweet scent of him.

Steve hides under the blanket, sighing at himself in the stuffy, cozy, wooly darkness. He asks _what the hell is wrong with you?_ and has more than enough answers to pick a couple dozen from.

Eventually he gets up.

Billy left the spoon in the sink.

Steve scrubs it clean, dries it, gets a thrill at putting it back in the drawer with all the other utensils as though nothing monumental had happened to it.

He eats half of what’s in the fridge standing up—sitting’s not an option yet. He orders pizza and eats that too. He doesn’t shower. He wants to marinate in the grime and the gross covering him. He’s got a man’s spit on his ear and he wants to wear it a little longer to remind himself he’s not alone.

It doesn’t help with the ache in his chest. Or his body. That all encompassing want for a release lingers, an itch that hasn’t been scratched, just dully rubbed against and waiting for more.

He falls asleep watching _Die Hard_.

-

In the morning, Steve wakes up an hour before his alarm and jerks off twice. Lays in bed, going off his thoughts alone, to shoot off quick at first and keeps going, his body’s been revved up and at the ready to go since last night and he’s not about to stop.

It’s amazing and the hardest he’s come in a while. He doesn’t even want to cry like he usually does these days. He’s panting in his bed, fucked out with an aching behind and sore knees and a tired back and a dick that could probably go a third time if he pushes himself.

He gets his phone and purposefully ignores how there’s no notifications. He turns his light on and takes a few shots, tries different angles, even gets up to turn another lamp on. He feels giddy and stupid and his chest is red from how hard he’s blushing and his dick is twitching, filling out, getting ready for a third round.

It’s dumb how much he wants to impress a guy he barely knows.

Before Steve can overthink it, he hits _send_ on the best shot and jerks off again too fast and with too tight a grip, the slick sound of fucking his fist pushing him over the edge and he comes with his head buried in his pillow.

Billy texts him back while he’s in the shower.

_gorgeous_

and

_such a good boy for me babydoll_

then

_treat my property right pretty boy_

Steve smiles to himself and catches his reflection in the mirror, looking ridiculous and happy for once.

He goes to work early. He’s the first at the office. He brings enough donuts to feed the entire building twice over. When his dad calls Steve into his office, Steve isn’t filled with dread and loathing and panic that he’s finally crossed the line, disappointed dear old dad too much this time and it’s time to go.

Steve walks into that office knowing he did good today and that’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Billy's got the dream job of bossing pretty boys around. Truly iconic.  
>   
> [tumblr](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)


End file.
